gossamer garment up high on one uplifted hand.
“Mávrusha, quicker, darling!”
“Give me my thimble, Miss, from there …”
“Whenever will you be ready?” asked the count coming to the door. “Here is some scent. Perónskaya must be tired of waiting.”
“It’s ready, Miss,” said the maid, holding up the shortened gauze dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, as if by this to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity of what she held.
Natásha began putting on the dress.
“In a minute! In a minute! Don’t come in, Papa!” she cried to her father as he opened the door—speaking from under the filmy skirt which still covered her whole face.
Sónya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count in. He was wearing a blue swallowtail coat, shoes and stockings, and was perfumed and his hair